


Like Grains of Sand

by Meicdon13



Category: Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: Ants of Heaven - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, POV Minor Character, Sad Ending, Unconventional Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meicdon13/pseuds/Meicdon13
Summary: Gotou doesn’t visit regularly. It’s alright, she knows that he’ll always come back. The days turn into weeks, into months, and then years. Still, she waits.





	Like Grains of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> [“Get ready for the pain train,”](https://twitter.com/MtBlackBear/status/826046154148163584) I whisper to myself as I write. Much love to [GirlwithRibbon](https://twitter.com/GirlwithRibbon) for letting me bounce ideas off of it and going over this ♥ I touched this last so any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> hmu: [twitter](https://twitter.com/MtBlackBear) • [dreamwidth](https://meicdon13.dreamwidth.org/)

She’s surprised to find him still in bed beside her when she wakes up, mouth slightly open and a bit of drool pooling beneath his cheek. A small part of her finds it endearing. Mostly she’s just confused. Why is he still here?

With the way her bed’s pushed up against a wall, she has to climb over him to get out. She supposes the questions can wait until after she cleans up and gets ready for the day. He doesn’t look like he’s planning on going anywhere and she’s got a long list of chores that she needs to finish.

She’s in the middle of eating breakfast when someone starts knocking on her door. It takes her a moment to place the long green hair and eyeglasses. And the leather uniform. “I’m sorry for intruding, but is Gotou here?”

It takes her a second or so to realize that Gotou’s the name of the man she brought home. “I think he’s still asleep,” she says.

“Not anymore.”

She turns around just in time to see Gotou stumbling into the entryway. He’s fully clothed but his coat is unzipped. She silently takes in the expanse of exposed skin, appreciating the view before he leaves. 

“The field marshal and general are both worried,” Green Hair says. “You missed the call time.”

“I’m fine, Eizen.” Gotou waves a hand dismissively. “I was just a bit preoccupied.” He winks at her and she hides her smile behind her hand.

Goodbyes are exchanged while ignoring Eizen’s impatient frown. She doesn’t do anything sappy like watching them walk down the street, goes back to her now-cold breakfast instead.

It’s only later when she’s cleaning up in the bedroom that she realizes that Gotou’s left behind his shirt. She wonders if he did it on purpose. She decides that it doesn’t matter, puts it in pile of dirty clothes due for a wash. She’ll just give it away or something.

*****

When he reappears at the restaurant—still with the same large group of men, still wearing the same uniform—she doesn’t remember him at first. It’s been almost a year and she sees so many faces at work that they all tend to blend together unless she’s dealing with a regular.

The loud laugh, though, that begins to jog her memory. The wide, beaming smile that appears on his face makes her smile in return.

*****

Gotou is not a regular feature of her life. He comes and goes as he pleases, without warning. Waking up to an empty bed doesn’t bother her, though she does relish the few times when she wakes up with his arms still wrapped around her, snoring so loudly that she just has to smother his face with a pillow.

There are other men—she and Gotou, after all, are not in any sort of committed relationship. But Gotou is definitely one of her favorites, she thinks to herself, as they dance around the dining room to nonexistent music, laughing at how ridiculous they’re being.

*****

She looks at the ripped sleeve of his uniform, the ragged edges of the leather, and wonders what exactly Gotou does.

Based on the uniforms, she assumes he and his friends are soldiers. But who do they work for? Where are they based? Who do they fight? 

She decides that it’s none of her business and throws the uniform back over the foot of the bed. He’s never asked her to mend his clothes and she’s never offered to. She’s certainly not going to start now.

*****

Without realizing it, she’s slipped into an exclusive relationship with a man she sees _maybe_ once every three months.

The epiphany isn’t particularly dramatic. She politely turns down an invitation from a customer to meet up after her shift and as she’s walking into the kitchen, it occurs to her that she hadn’t turned him down because he was a customer (her usual policy). She’d turned him down because he wasn’t Gotou.

It … doesn’t bother her as much as she thinks it should.

*****

She tries to be discreet when she hands him the locket. Part of her is embarrassed about how _sentimental_ the whole thing is, part of her is embarrassed that she’s even flustered about it in the first place.

Gotou cups the locket in the palm of his hand, stares at it while she fidgets with her serving tray. She should get back to work but she can’t bring herself to leave when he hasn’t _said anything_ —

“It’s beautiful!”

For a moment, she thinks she’s going to have a heart attack. Men as tall as Gotou’s friend shouldn’t be able to move so quietly but there he is, looming behind Gotou and trying to get a better look at the golden locket.

“Shut up, Jyouei!” Gotou hisses frantically, but it’s too late, the rest of the group swiveling around to look at them. She counts at least five shit-eating grins.

The next hour of teasing is worth it when Gotou lets her take a picture for her own locket. He looks dashing and brave and a bunch of other clichéd words people used to describe men in uniforms.

She traces the crooked lines of his grin in the picture when she’s feeling particularly sentimental, likes to think that he can feel her fingers ghosting across his face when she does.

*****

She’s pregnant and she is absolutely terrified.

Gotou is not a regular feature of her life. He comes and goes as he pleases, without warning. Something inside of her knows—has always known—that he’s not meant to stay with her. That they can’t settle down and build a home and a life and a family together. That there’s something about him that will always set him apart from her.

It’s never bothered her before, but she’s never been pregnant before either.

The thought of raising a child alone—Gotou always comes back but he never stays and she can’t _make_ him stay, she knows this—

What if he doesn’t want it—what if _she_ doesn’t want it—

She takes a deep breath. She needs to call her mother.

*****

Gotou faints when he sees their child. She shouldn’t laugh but she does.

*****

Gotou spoils their daughter. She knows it’s because he sees her so rarely and he just wants to enjoy being with her while he’s actually there. He wasn’t there for their child’s first steps, first words, first anything. He won’t be there for most of their daughter’s life.

Still, she whacks his arm whenever she catches him letting her do something she’s not supposed to. Gotou laughs sheepishly while their daughter screeches in delight and hides behind his legs.

“Mommy’s mad!” their daughter yells.

And she is. She’s mad at him for not staying even after he found out they have a child. She’s mad at herself for even hoping that he would because he’d never promised her anything.

But she doesn’t say anything about any of that. Instead, she fake growls and chases them around the living room, loses herself in the joy of having her family whole for an entire afternoon.

*****

She’s made peace with the fact that people feel bad for her.

People look at her and see a woman who waits—faithfully, patiently—for a soldier who never spends more than a week at a time with her. They see a woman who’s basically raising a child as a single mother and their pity extends to her daughter for growing up in what they see as a broken family.

Honestly, sometimes she feels bad for herself too. But whenever she does, she reminds herself that her parents are eager and willing to help raise their grandchild. That her daughter is strong and smart and the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

And she reminds herself that no matter where Gotou goes, he always comes back.

*****

With her head pillowed on his chest, she can hear his heart beating. It sounds strong and steady, and yet it sounds … too strong, if that makes sense. It’s the same steady rhythm of her own heart, but there’s an undercurrent that makes it sound _different_ in some way that she can’t put into words, not even in her own mind.

She doesn’t want to think about it, so she closes her eyes and makes herself go back to sleep.

*****

The days turn into weeks. That’s par for the course so she just goes about her normal life.

The weeks turn into months. That’s still normal.

She gets worried when it’s been a year.

The worry turns into anger at the two-year mark.

She throws her locket out the window and refuses to regret it. She ignores the way her daughter watches her silently, marches into the kitchen to start dinner. Her hands shake too much for her to get any chopping done so she sets down the knife and collapses into a chair.

She’s so angry that she can’t even breathe properly. It feels like there’s a huge weight on her chest, pressing down on her ribs, her heart fluttering unsteadily.

She wants to lash out at something—some _body_ —and it takes her a moment to see her daughter standing in front of her.

“Tell me about him, Mom,” she says, softly.

So she does.

She complains about his bad habit of leaving his clothes thrown all over the place, about how he hogged the covers and drooled on the pillows. He was always too laid back and it was a nightmare to get him to do any chores around the house.

He never told her _anything_ about his life as a soldier. Why was he even a soldier when there haven’t been any wars to fight? Was he part of a personal army? Where were they stationed, where did they go, _why_ did he have to go—

“I’ve never seen you this sad about dad being gone,” her daughter says.

“He’s never been gone this long before.” Her breath hitches when she talks. “How are you not sad?”

“I am, but I’m sadder that you’re so broken up about it.” Her daughter glances to one side before she continues. “For as long as I can remember, Dad’s never really been around.”

She doesn’t have anything to say to that, doesn’t know what to say at all. Instead, she goes out into the garden and looks for her locket, tries not to cry when she finds it. Fails when her daughter—so strong and so smart—wraps her arms around her waist and presses her forehead against her back.

Anger turns into mourning. She wears white for a long time.

*****

She starts to forget things. Small things and big things, important things and unimportant things.

The doctor says it’s normal for her age, part of growing old.

Dealing with it is easier once her daughter convinces her that she needs to move in with her and her husband and their children.

She reads a lot, solves puzzles with her grandchildren, takes frequent walks around the village. She does everything the doctor says will help with her memory, but still she feels her body and mind slowly give up on her.

But then she starts to forget that she forgets things.

*****

Sometimes her grandchildren ask, "Who is that?" all youthful curiosity and big eyes and grabby hands because of the metal's shine.

On good days, she tells them stories about great battles and the brave soldier who fought them. About far-off places that the brave soldier has seen and visited, the people he’s met. They’re completely made up; stories she once told herself to make the passage of time easier, to fill in the void of not knowing where he was or what he was doing or if he still thought about her.

On bad days, her daughter steers them away, distracts them with games and treats while she looks at the locket in her palm, the stranger’s picture inside it, and wonders why she feels so sad.


End file.
